Page 108 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“Truly?”

Alek frowned. “I pride myself on my honesty, Wife. Do not doubt me.”

The music slowed, and as they came to a halt before everyone, Emillie could not help the smirk that tugged at her lips. “I will remember that. Husband.”

Arm in arm, Emillie and Alek spoke with their guests, thanking each one for joining their celebration. Fewer though there were than at the wedding of the Golden Rose, still well over one hundred attendees had made their way to the festivities. Nearly every Lord and Lady from around Laeton and many from the surrounding cities and provinces.

Emillie fell into a rhythm of gracious nods and small talk as Alek carried the conversation from Caersan to Caersan. Until, of course, they stood before Madan. Though Ariadne had not been able to attend, her half-brother had made his appearance. Such a thing would not help the rumors circulating around her sister’s absence.

“Lord Governor Caldwell,” Alek said and extended his hand. Madan grasped his forearm in greeting before Alek continued, “I am pleased to see you have made it. Did you journey alone?”

Madan did not look perturbed by the question. “After my cousin’s sudden passing, I do not travel lightly. My sister-in-law is not with me, however. She will return shortly and sends her warmest regards to you both.”

With a glance at Alek, Emillie shifted closer, dropping her voice so even the sharp vampire ears around them could not hear her, “Where is she?”

To Alek’s credit, his expression remained neutral. A quick side-step, and he turned his back to most guests, effectively blocking off any eavesdropping Caersans. His expression remained pleasant as though they spoke of nothing out of the ordinary for the wedding of one of the most elite couples in the Society.

“Precisely where you believe her to be.” Madan made a show of smiling, but the twinkle did not meet his marbled eyes. “She is safe.”

The unspoken for now hit Emillie like a punch to the gut. No need for elaboration. Her sister was in Algorath, and she was in danger.

Her grip on Alek’s arm tightened, and like a dutiful husband, he covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. The feeling, though familiar and comforting in a way, did not ease the knot forming in her chest. “Do you believe she will succeed?”

To her unending horror, Madan did not respond right away. He glanced over her head, taking note of those nearby before saying, “I don’t know.”

That was when she saw it. The dullness in her half-brother’s eyes. He feared for them just as much as she, and his inability to lend his aid only compounded the worries. Once a formidable personal guard, someone Emillie trusted explicitly to keep her safe, could no longer protect any of his siblings. Though she doubted his injury had done much to slow him down, as Lord Governor, he had duties to attend to in Valenul. He could not galavant off into the desert to help them.

“I’ll do all I can for them both,” Madan said, and for the first time, his face fell. “But my focus is on getting your sister home safe.”

Emillie’s heart cracked. By the silver in his eyes, she knew what he thought. Azriel may not make it out alive, and he had resigned himself to that fact. The cause of his death would be on her hands.

“I am so sorry,” Emillie breathed. She chewed her lip, eyes stinging despite her strained smile in a vain attempt to continue their collective ruse. “This is all my fault. I thought it would help, and I—”

“None of this is your fault.” Madan took hold of her free hand with his. He blinked back the tears threatening to breach his own barricades. “He knew from the beginning how dangerous it was to be here. He knew the consequences of being discovered. Anything that happens is due to his own actions. You did everything right and gave him a fighting chance.”

Literally. Emillie nodded, and while the words made sense, she could not help the despair that crept in at the thought of losing them. At the thought of having had a hand in it. Alek tightened his hold on her as though to force her splintering pieces back together. “If you hear from her…them…please tell them how sorry I am. For everything.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Madan shook his head. “Nothing. Please believe me. As your brother.”

Alek stiffened at that. His brows twitched together, and his coal-dark eyes slid between them.

“Later,” she promised him, not wanting to even think about later. Perhaps if they had enough to talk about, he would not expect anything from their wedding night—least of all, her promise to bear him a child. Emillie then turned back to Madan and added, “Please tell them what I said, but add…that I would do it all again to give them a chance. I do not pretend to understand who Azriel is, but I do understand that he brought my sister to life again. I will be eternally grateful, and though I am sorry, I do not regret my actions.”

Madan’s mouth tightened, and he inclined his head. “I will do that. Now…enjoy your celebration, Sister. And Alek,” he leveled his gold and green gaze at the other Lord Governor, “take care of her.”

Her husband inclined his head in return. “Until my last breath.”

Loren stood at a tall table tucked between a palm tree and tall, vibrant tropical flowers he had never before seen. In the middle of the conservatory, with a storm raging outside, they felt just as out of place as he did amongst the Caersans preening after the bride and groom—something for which he had no interest. His invitation to the ceremony and reception had likely been forced by the Princeps. Ostracizing the kingdom’s General could only widen the divide between the Gards and Harlows.

Where Alek Nightingale stood with all of it, he was not certain. That he had become fast friends with the traitor, Tenebra, and ultimately married Emillie, Loren remained unconvinced of the Lord Governor’s ambivalence.

Remaining close to the Harlows, however, continued to be a matter of utmost importance. At least until he gained what he desired. With Ariadne’s notable absence from her sister’s wedding, Loren now knew without a doubt that Emillie and Markus continued to lie. And if the Princeps could lie so easily about his own daughter’s disappearance, he was not fit to rule Valenul.

He counted down the nights until his missives were read aloud to all.

So Loren sipped his wine and watched the happy couple dance before making their way around the conservatory to greet their guests. He noted with whom they stopped to speak until, of course, they came before Madan Antaire—for he, like Tenebra, was no Caldwell. Though he knew well that the false Lord Governor was a Caersan as he claimed to be thanks to the liquid sunshine, Loren did not believe him to be who he claimed.

Having been so close to Azriel, there was no doubt that Antaire remained close to other dhemons. Loren just had to figure out who he communed with to find a way to expose him as well. Until then, he had to keep his head down.

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